


Saving Grace

by Selene_Eleganza



Series: Talon! [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Canon-Typical Violence, Court of Owls, Dick Grayson Kills Joker (DCU), Dick Grayson is a Talon, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jason Todd is Robin, Protective Dick Grayson, Romani Dick Grayson, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29776827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selene_Eleganza/pseuds/Selene_Eleganza
Summary: Richard 'Dick' Grayson's life changed when he was nine. His parents were murdered, he was taken in by Bruce Wayne, he discovered Batman's identity, and he became Robin.When Dick Grayson is fourteen, he disappears from Wayne Manor in the night, lost without a trace. Taken by the Court of Owls to be forged into the Ultimate Talon.Almost four years later, the Gray Son breaks free and ends the Court of Owls for good. But the Talon starts to remember things. Before he knows it, he's rediscovering something that he'd lost a long time ago.Family.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Talon! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188506
Comments: 10
Kudos: 165





	Saving Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a one-shot that spawned off of a larger fic that I'm in the middle of writing. In case you're curious, the two diverge where Dick and Tim meet.

When Richard “Dick” Grayson was nine, his parents were murdered. When he was nine, he was taken in by Bruce Wayne and discovered the identity of the Batman. When Dick Grayson was nine, he became Robin.

A month after his fourteenth birthday, on January 5th, he was stolen from Wayne Manor in the night.

Bruce Wayne searched the _globe_ for his missing ward, for his _son,_ but nothing ever turned up. No clues, no leads, no trails. No bodies. Meanwhile, Batman and his allies searched for the missing Robin. Both identities had disappeared without a trace.

Because the Court of Owls had reclaimed what was theirs. The precious Gray Son that was kept from them. Their perfect Talon, ripe for the making.

The Court broke Richard Grayson until only the Gray Son remained. He was quick, precise, stealthy, intelligent, and cunning. Deadly and _loyal_ . He learned quickly. He was the _Perfect Talon_. And so their destined Talon grew older, growing in his strength and his skills as every year passed. Almost four years after he’d been taken, just before he would turn 18, the Court of Owls decided that the weapon that had once been Dick Grayson was ready to become a full Talon.

But their precious, perfect Gray Son was never truly loyal. While his memories of his life Before were repressed and near-inaccessible, he still saw flashes sometimes. Impressions of memories. And he still had enough of Dick Grayson within himself to know that he _hated_ the Court.

And so when the Court of Owls decided that it was time to finish their esteemed Gray Son into the undead Talon he was meant to be, the Talon struck.

The Court was toppled from the inside in a matter of days.

Batman and his second Robin got an overwhelming number of cases in a short amount of time. Rich Gothamites struck down methodically, surrounded by evidence of their crimes, all the prestigious trappings of the Court of Owls, and a familiar nursery rhyme.

_‘Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head.’_

And so Batman and Robin learned that the Court of Owls was real. And more importantly, that the Court of Owls was _dead._

They followed the trail of evidence wherever it led them. They found Talon nests scattered throughout the city. They find a Labyrinth with a chilling statue of white marble, a fountain with water flowing from an owl’s beak.

And they find coffins. Almost a hundred of them. Each one opened, all but one adorned with the picture of a child. All but one of them occupied by the body of a forever-dead Talon.

Because the Talon that was once Dick Grayson hated the Court. He hated what they were using him to create. So when he killed the Court, he killed the slumbering Talons, too. Now he was the last. The unfinished Talon that had been praised as the perfect weapon in the making, greater than all those who had come before.

But now, the Talon’s job is done. He disappeared into the dark of the city. For the first time that the Court’s prized Gray Son could remember, he was _free_. Untethered, he silently stalked Gotham’s streets in search of escaped Owls and a new purpose.

One night, the Talon saw Batman and Robin running along the rooftops.

He’d seen a lot of things since destroying the Court that made him _feel_ something about them. Specific street corners or shop fronts that tug at some fragment of a feeling, some inkling of a memory in his mind.

But Batman and Robin are bright. _Important_ , somehow.

Batman was… home, and safety. Love and care. Warmth.

Robin reminded him of himself, somehow. Mischief and responsibility and determination. The feeling of flying.

So the Talon shadowed them. He watched from afar, silent and undetected. He was the best of the Talons, after all. Tailing prey was natural enough to him that it may have been his primary nature. The more he watched, the more he learned. The more impressions he seemed to remember.

(Robin. It was _his_ name once. Given to him by his mother. Important. And the colors that the boy wore were _his._ )

The Talon saw the other shadow that stalked the Bats in the night. A young boy with a camera, watching dutifully. It was dangerous for him, the Talon decided. He watched the boy for a while. The boy was intelligent and quick. Clever. He knew the identities of the Bats, but he was loyal, even when they did not know him.

(He would make an _excellent_ Talon, the Gray Son thinks. So he must protect him from the Court. (If any of the Court survived.))

When Talon wasn’t shadowing the Bats, he shadowed his Owlet. He watched for anyone who would hurt the boy.

One night, someone took notice of the healthy young boy skulking around Gotham’s dark streets. They tried to _take_ him. Take him to ransom or sell to the highest bidder. The Talon did not let them get that far. But the Owlet _saw._

“Dick?” the Talon’s Owlet asked, staring at him with wide, innocent eyes.

The name was familiar. Talon cocked his head as he stared down the boy that didn't seem to fear him, despite having seen what the assassin did to those that had just been trying to take him.

The boy took a slow step closer, still staring up at the Talon in confusion and wonder.

“It is not safe in the night, Owlet,” the Talon said. He should leave, but he was intrigued.

His Owlet blinked. “Dick Grayson?”

The Talon stilled at the name, but he wasn’t tense. No, a warrior needs to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. The boy seemed to understand that the new stillness was far more deadly than it had been before.

“That’s your name,” the boy insisted, soft and quiet. “Richard Grayson, but you like to be called Dick. You were an acrobat before Bruce Wayne took you in.”

The Talon sank smoothly into a crouch, looking calmly up into the boy’s blue eyes. “You know me,” he said. Not a question, but an observation.

His Owlet nodded. “You went missing four years ago,” he continued quietly. “No one could find you.” His bright, sharp eyes- calculating but still innocent- searched the Talon’s face. “Where did you go? What happened to you?”

The Talon said nothing, just continued to watch his strange Owlet. After a moment, the boy seemed to accept that he wouldn’t get an answer. His eyes shifted to the bodies in the alley before the Talon redirected the attention back onto himself. Somehow, he didn’t want his Owlet to look any longer than he already had at the handiwork of a Talon. He was still young and bright.

“Dick?”

The Talon gently shushed him. “Don’t look, little Owlet. You are safe.”

The boy watched for another moment, a storm building behind his eyes. “You aren’t Dick right now, are you?” he whispered. The Talon did not answer. The boy took it as an answer anyways. “Do you have anywhere to stay?”

Surprised, the Talon tilted his head in question.

“You can stay with me, if you want,” the boy continued, quiet but earnest. “My parents aren’t home right now, so they wouldn’t know.”

The Talon knew this. He had been watching for some time. “You are a strange one, little Owlet,” he murmured. But the boy claimed to _know_ him. He calls him a name that is… familiar. Gray Son, but not _Gray Son._ He finds that he would like to know more about the person that his Owlet seems to think he is. That he once was.

But he didn’t want to endanger his Owlet. The Talon was dangerous. He would never hurt the boy, _could_ never hurt the boy. He knew this. But if the Talon was discovered, it would put the Owlet in danger.

Somehow, he knew that the Owlet wouldn’t take no for an answer. He would simply return to the dark streets and search for a more dangerous creature to shadow. He was safer trailing Bats and Birds than he was Talons. And the boy seemed to know more about who the Talon was than he _himself_ did.

And he found… that he wanted to learn who Dick Grayson had been.

The Court of Owls was dead. He would remain to ensure that it stayed dead, but he would grow restless. Maybe learning about who his Owlet says he was would be useful.

“No, Owlet,” the Talon said softly. When the boy looked crestfallen, he followed his refusal with a compromise. “But you will see me again,” he promised. “Dick Grayson,” he said, the name forming awkwardly on his lips, “I would like to know who he had been. If what you say is true, maybe I can be him again. But I will find _you,_ Owlet. Do not search for me. You will be safer following your Bats.”

His Owlet looked surprised that he’d known why he’d been out and about. Before he could say anything, the Talon hushed him.

“Run along home, little Owlet. I will see you another night.”

The boy blinked. “But how will you find me?”

“Who said I have not already?”

Before the Owlet could continue with his questions, the Talon stood with a fluid grace and scaled up a wall where the boy could not follow. He looked down impassively at him with what he knew were eerie, golden eyes. “Good night, Owlet.” He disappeared, watching the boy from the shadows and following him home unseen to ensure he made it there safely. It would not do to save the boy and then leave him be.

  
  
  
  
  


Over the next month, the Talon slowly began to remember things about who he’d been. He had visited his Owlet a few times during that period, occasionally on the boy’s outings and a few times at the boy’s home.

The Owlet was not nearly as afraid as he should have been.

Dick Grayson had been the _first_ Robin. The uniform was crafted in his family’s colors, a family he’d lost to gravity and a man named Zucco. The Talon quietly decided that Zucco would be found dead in the coming days, but the way the Owlet looked at him with guileless and pleading eyes forced him to reconsider.

Tony Zucco would live to see another day.

The Talon remembered that ‘Robin’ had been more than a mask and a cape. It had been important. Something he threw himself into willingly, over and over and over. As Robin, he was a partner. A teammate. Never a tool.

The more he remembered, the more of himself he recovered.

The Owlet managed to guilt him into staying at Drake Manor more and more often, and the boy didn’t even seem to know he was doing it most of the time.

The Drakes were never home. They were more often than not traveling abroad, staying only in Gotham for a week or so at a time before moving on. Calls home were rare. Drake Manor was an empty house, and never a home.

As a result, the Owlet was lonely. Touch-starved. Once the boy was brave enough to give the Talon a hug and he was able to observe how the boy _melted_ in the face of the tiniest affection- albeit in his awkward way- the Talon resolved to wean his way into bigger and more meaningful shows of affection.

By the time six months rolled around, the Gray Son of Gotham of the Court of Owls no longer thought of himself as Talon or Gray Son. He was _Dick,_ former Talon, wayward Robin. Son to Bruce Wayne, to Batman. Grandson to Alfred. Older brother to Tim Drake and Jason Todd, current Robin. Former member of the Young Justice team, a secret covert ops group he founded with Kid Flash, Aqualad, and Superboy.

When Dick wasn’t visiting Tim or patrolling the city on his own, he watched distantly over Batman, Robin, and Batgirl. Because even _Babs_ was in on the superhero game now, apparently. Did he have any _normal_ friends?

Clearly not. Tim didn’t count, with his Bat-stalking and knowledge of the most guarded secret identities in the world.

(He knew more than just Batman. He’d figured out pretty quickly after they’d met who had taken Dick. Tim terrified Dick with his brain, just a little. Dick thanked every deity that he could think of that the Court had never discovered Tim Drake. The little Owlet was half a weapon already and he had _no idea._ )

  
  
  
  
  


The Joker was on the loose and Dick couldn’t find Robin. Batman was running around like a bat out of hell and Dick couldn’t even find it in himself to laugh about the irony. Robin was missing. _Jason_ was missing.

Dick would not allow Bruce to lose another son. He would not allow Alfred to lose another grandson. Barbara, another friend. The Team, the city, the _League,_ another Robin.

Dick would not lose the little brother he hadn’t met yet.

He’d made it a point of knowing what was happening in Gotham in a way that Batman couldn’t. So he knew that while Joker’s goons were hitting all around the city, there was one place where they’d been lurking for the past week that was empty tonight.

Dick didn’t _trust_ empty.

The former Talon slipped into the warehouse soundlessly. He knew immediately that he was in the right place when he heard the familiar sounds of pain ringing through the space.

Swallowed grunts and cries, like the person in pain didn’t want to give someone the satisfaction of a scream. Dick spared a moment to perch on a beam and observe, letting Dick Grayson recede in favor of the Gray Son.

A garish clown in green and purple stood over a broken and bloodied Robin with a crowbar, hitting the bird over and over, cackling all the while.

_‘A or B? Forehand, or backhand?’_

The Talon scanned the room for anyone else, but it was empty. Just a clown and a grounded bird. With a shift of his weight and a flick of his wrist, one of the Talon’s ornamental knives flew from the chest of his suit and embedded itself into the clown’s shoulder.

The crazed jester screamed, his body flinching away from the blow as he dropped his crowbar and reached to pull the blade from his shoulder blade. When he saw the owl engraved on the blade’s hilt, he started laughing hysterically.

_“Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time,”_ he recited, sounding positively deranged. The clown turned his eyes around the warehouse in search of the Talon, seeing only shadows. _“Ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head.’"_ The Joker giggled some more. "Now what does the Court of Owls want with little old me?”

The Gray Son shifted just enough to let his eyes catch the light, gleaming gold in the darkness. His voice was cold and sharp. Dispassionate. “The Court of Owls is dead, Jester. No one sends the Talon but the Talon. The Court of Owls has not sentenced you to die tonight.”

Behind the Joker, Robin was stiff and still where he lay on the ground, one eye wide behind a shattered and missing domino lens. He had seen what a Talon’s work looked like.

The clown tittered. “Have you joined in on the fun, little Talon? Have you come to see a little birdie bleed?”

The Talon moved in a flash, too quickly for the mad jester to evade. Two more knives flew within an instant, embedding themselves in the man’s knees, sending him down with screams and a few sharp snaps as the weight on his impaled joints sent more bones into the knife as he fell.

A Talon was usually about quick kills. Give them just enough time to understand and fear their fate before the job was done and the Talon returns to the Court as if they had never left. Leave no traces.

The Gray Son of Gotham did not care. Unlike the targets usually dispatched on orders of the Court, the Joker was- much like the Court had been- a plague upon Gotham. A blight that did nothing but destroy when it suited him.

And the Joker had been torturing a child. The fact that the child wore a mask only made it more _fun_ for him.

No, the Joker would not die quickly. Not by Talon standards. But he would not drag it out too long. It may be the Joker at the end of his blades, but it was _Robin_ who would live with what he saw. It would be Jason who would live to remember.

The Talon dropped down onto the warehouse floor with a deadly grace built upon a life of effortless acrobatics. He stalked slowly to where the Joker was trying to pathetically scrabble away. The man reached for Robin as if to make a human shield-

_Whoosh_ , a blade embedded itself in the clown’s outstretched hand.

“A? Or B?” the Gray Son taunted, spiking a knife into the jester’s foot. The Joker, it seemed wasn’t quite as disciplined as Robin. The jester _screamed_. The man finally turned to face his death, already-wide eyes growing larger at the sight awaiting him.

The Gray Son of Gotham was perhaps more terrifying in light of his appearance. His once tanned skin was pale, his formerly bright blue eyes instead a dazzling, gleaming gold. Soft, windswept black hair reminiscent of his time as Robin framed his face. He was still young at 18, but he was built with powerful, deadly grace. And he wore a truly intimidating black suit that was edged sharply in gold and adorned with all the trappings of a Talon.

If the Joker cared at all for the drama of Gotham in the years passed, he may even recognize the face, as altered as it was.

The Talon crouched down in front of his pathetic prey, and when he spoke, his voice was cold. “Joker, I sentence you to die.”

He flicked his hand and it was over.

Satisfied that it was finished, he turned to regard Robin. The boy was watching him with a kind of such horrified awe that the Talon had no doubt that he could see who the face in front of him once belonged to.

“Jason Todd,” the Talon said softly, Dick Grayson returning now that the Talon was no longer needed. When Robin stiffened further, Dick realized what the bird was afraid he was going to say next. “It’s time you got home,” he finished, approaching on careful feet and washing what lethal potential he could out of his movements.

(He’d been practicing with Tim.)

When Dick knelt next to Jason and pulled a knife to free him, he realized that the young Robin wasn’t breathing. He glanced up at Jason’s pale face. “Breathe, Little Wing,” he soothed, brushing hair gently away from his battered face, watching the eye he could see through the compromised mask. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

After a moment, Robin was freed, his ankles and wrists pulled from their bindings and towards his core. “Dick?” he asked, tentative and uncertain.

Dick glanced up at him, breaking from examining what injuries he could while Robin was still in his suit. “It’s good to meet you, little brother. Although I wish it was under better circumstances. Is your comm or your beacon working?”

Jason shook his head, clearly dazed. Possible concussion, possible internal bleeding, and most definite shock at seeing a dead boy walking.

Or, well. As close as Dick could get. He wasn’t sure if he would _stay_ dead, being an unfinished experimental Talon, after all.

Dick hummed consideringly. How to call the Bat? An idle smirk played on Dick’s lips, doing little to calm the hurt bird. Dick patted his head softly, shifting his fingers in the way he knew Tim liked. “No hospitals,” Dick mused, “and Leslie’s is too far. But Gotham PD’s very own Bat Signal shouldn’t be too much, right Little Wing?”

When Jason didn’t answer, Dick shrugged. “Not like you really have a choice. We’ve got to call Batman _somehow,_ and screaming his name in the streets is more likely to gather the wrong attention. So to the Signal we go.”

He carefully scooped Robin into his arms, leaving his bloodied knives behind and slipping right out the door. If he really wanted them, he’d steal them back later. Robin was more important.

Robin was mercifully quiet, only letting out a few stifled hisses and whimpers when an injury was jostled. Dick moved as smoothly as he could, but there was only so much that could be done. Considering the beating that Dick had seen, it was likely that Jason had _several_ broken bones. There simply wasn’t a way to carry him that wouldn’t result in some level of pain, end of story.

They kept to the shadows, managing to avoid all attention. Before long, Dick and Jason had made it to the top of the precinct. Dick set Robin carefully against the stand for the over-sized flashlight and flicked the monstrous bulb on. The Bat flew bright against the perpetually gloomy summer Gotham sky. Dick barred the door in case any curious officers or Commissioners came investigating. He settled in beside Jason and pulled the boy’s head into his lap, running his fingers over his scalp and gently probing for injuries.

His head, thankfully, seemed fine. A concussion was still likely, but it didn’t seem like any further damage was done. Dick idly hummed a Romani lullaby he remembered, singing softly when words returned to him. There were still things he struggled to remember.

Despite his ministrations, he made sure to keep Jason conscious. In what felt like no time at all, the sound of a familiar pair of boots hitting the ground reached Dick’s ears. There was a swish of a cape indicating an aborted movement, and then silence.

Yes, it probably didn’t look promising to see your battered and vulnerable son’s head lying in the lap of someone that was clearly wearing the suit of a Talon.

“I found something of yours, Batman,” Dick said, still looking down at his brother’s face. Jason glanced cautiously between Dick and Batman. Dick ghosted a hand over some of his injuries. “The Joker had him. Warehouse near Robinson Square. Bastard probably thought he was being funny. His comms and beacon were broken, so I figured the next best thing was the Signal.” He picked up his head to stare at his adoptive father.

Batman was frozen, and even with the cowl on you could read the distress on his face.

“It’s good to see you,” Dick said softly.

“Dick,” Batman- no _Bruce,_ that voice was all Bruce- croaked out. “ _Dick.”_

Dick looked back to Robin, gathering his brother back up in his arms. “We can talk in the Cave, B. Robin’s hurt. At least a few broken bones, probable concussion, but I can’t tell the extent of the damage with the suit on.” He stood fluidly, walking the boy up to his mentor.

Bruce just stared for a moment before reaching out a gloved hand as if to check what he was seeing was real. He brushed some of Dick’s hair aside like Dick had done to Jason not that long ago.

Dick was almost as tall as Bruce, now.

Once it seemed to sink in that Dick was real, Bruce looked down at Jason, efficiently scanning for injuries. Then he reached his other hand to brush at Jason’s hair. “Jay-lad, I’m glad you’re alright.”

With nothing else to say and a hurt bird on hand, they moved quickly to where the Batmobile was idling nearby. Dick carefully pulled Jason into the backseat with him while Bruce took the wheel. They all carefully avoided the owl-shaped elephant in the car.

Robin gave his report to Batman in a bid to stay awake, carefully and deliberately skipping over the fact that Dick ‘played’ with the Joker before killing him.

Would it be playing if he had fun? Dick didn’t have fun. Neither did the Talon. It was just cold revenge, plain and simple. He didn’t regret it.

Dick may have regained a lot of who he once was, but he would likely _never_ be sorry for killing the Joker or purging the Court. Those, to him, were necessary. Cancers to the city that couldn’t be contained. They had to be burned out at the source.

The thugs that tried to take Tim months ago? Much less necessary. Dick didn’t exactly _regret_ it, but he had a feeling he might eventually. Or maybe not _regret_ it so much as simply not hold pride over it. Indifference, maybe.

As they approached the tunnel to the Batcave, Dick spoke up for the first time in the ride.

“Did anyone warn Alfred?”

There was a conspicuous silence in the car.

_“Bruce,”_ Dick chided.

Jason cracked a grin. “He probably didn’t know what to say,” he joked.

Dick smirked down at him. “Oh, I’m gonna _like_ you, Little Wing.”

Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh that was just a touch too exaggerated to be real. “What will I do with you two,” he intoned fondly.

Dick’s heart squeezed in his chest, the feeling warm. He’d hold onto it for as long as it lasted.

They pulled into the Batcave and Dick carried Jason out, marveling quietly at the changes he could see while on his way to the medical bay. Alfred turned at the sound of approaching footsteps from where he’d been looking at something on the monitors.

“Master Bruce, Barbara-” he caught sight of Jason and Dick and gasped, bringing a hand up to his chest.

“Hey, Alfie,” Jason called weakly, a smile on his face. “Look who I found!”

Alfred looked between all three of his boys, clearly torn on whether to be concerned about Jason, irritated at Bruce’s lack of warning, wonder at the fact that Dick was standing in the Batcave, or everything that came with recognizing the suit he wore.

“Master Jason, I’m glad that you’re more or less in one piece,” Alfred said, somewhat faint. “Master Dick, welcome home. It’s wonderful to see you well.”

Dick sent him a smile that was somewhere between amused, sad, and wry as he laid Jason carefully out on the bed. ‘Well’ was relative. Having been made into a Talon for the last several years of his life was not objectively ‘well’, but he supposed the fact that he was alive and regaining most of what he’d lost was something.

“I missed you, Alfred,” Dick said quietly.

  
  
  


The next few hours passed in a blur. Barbara was called and told the search was off. They checked over Jason with all of the equipment the Cave had. Luckily there wasn’t anything that Jason would need an immediate doctor for, so it was decided that he’d see Leslie tomorrow. The rest of the time was spent carefully grilling Dick on how he had come to be there in every sense of the word. They treated him carefully, like anything done wrong could spook him.

Dick wasn’t sure whether or not to be amused or offended. After a short while of talking, there was a small clattering from the vehicle bay. Bruce sprung into an alert position while Jason and Alfred stiffened in surprise, but Dick just sighed. He recognized that sound.

“Jig’s up, Owlet,” he called. “Come out of there.” Dick turned in time to see Tim Drake peek around the edge of the Batmobile.

“Hi,” Tim said quietly.

“Tim,” Dick started slowly. “I never told you where the Cave was. Or how to get in.”

Tim blinked at him with large, guileless eyes. Dick didn’t believe it for a _second._ “I saw the news,” the boy said in way of explanation. “Batman was running around the city like a man possessed and Robin was nowhere to be seen. The Joker’s goons were causing havoc, but not the Joker himself. That meant that the Joker had Robin, which meant _you_ were going to get him.”

Dick nodded. “Point. But that doesn’t explain how you got in here.”

The Owlet stayed silent for a moment before pointing his thumb behind him. “I can go…”

Dick tossed his head up to stare skywards in exasperation. “Good _god._ You’re already here. Might as well stay. I’m sure Bruce, Jason, and Alfred have questions.” He looked back down and hit Tim with a deadpan stare. “I don’t know if it’s _possible_ for me to go gray, but _god_ do you try, Owlet. You’re lucky I love you.”

Tim grinned shakily at him, giving him weak finger guns in the face of the Batclan staring full-force behind Dick.

“...is that _Tim Drake?”_ Jason squeaked out.

Dick turned back to his family with a winning smile that he knew looked alarming paired with his unnatural complexion and gleaming gold eyes. “It _is,_ Little Wing. Turns out the next door neighbor figured me out when he was nine. And, in extension, all of _you_. Batclan and more.” When Bruce’s expression shuttered in shock, Dick winked. “Don’t worry. He hasn’t told a soul, aside from me anyway, and those were… extenuating circumstances.”

He threw an arm around Tim while the boy turned red. “In fact, I found him because I was stalking Batman and Robin and noticed there was someone else trailing in your shadows,” he teased. “Batman and Robin, the masters of stealth, followed unseen by a fourteen-year old boy for several years, _unaware.”_

Jason exploded into noise and the bats throughout the cave startled, filling the air with familiar chittering. The Batcave that Dick remembered starting out as empty and lifeless was now a little fuller, a little more _lively_ than it had been, even at the end of Dick’s time as Robin.

It wasn’t just Batman and Alfred anymore. They had Jason, apparently they had Babs, they had Dick, and hopefully now they had Tim.

They’d need to talk. A _lot._ There were a lot of things they needed to know about Dick, about who he’d been while he was gone. About how he was back in the way that he was. But that could wait. There was life and laughter in the Batcave. Bruce, Jason, Alfred, and Tim were smiling. It was _good._

And it felt a little like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! Loved it? Hated it? What did or didn't you like? I can only grow when shown what I can do better. Hopefully you enjoyed this, and if you did I hope to see you with my next fic!


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